Runaway Future

This summer for the alFresco FilmFesto, an annual series of outdoor films projected onto the side of a building on the waterfront, the theme is Bill Murray films. As part of it, they’ve got a contest for Bill Murray themed haikus.

For whatever reason, this struck my interest and so I submitted:

Groundhog, Weatherman
Cursed to spend day after day
First step’s a doozy

Since then, my mind has been flowing with ideas:
Marine scientist
Chasing shark who killed best friend
Cousteau would be proud

Noble groundskeeper
Lama promised peace in death
Got that going for me

Present day efforts
Stoneface like Buster Keaton
Far from SNL

Just want to play golf
Hidden among undead folk
Nice shot, Eisenberg

I mentioned this previously, but I’ve owned the same cellphone, a venerable Samsung a640 for almost 6 years now, which is eons when it comes to that technology. I’ve been oft-criticized for that (as someone working in the information technology field, it goes against the expectations of many, as does my indifference for video games) and rarely draws any sort of respect (though I’ve been curiously painted as some sort of luddite technology freedom fighter, which might make sense considering my main home computer dates back to my college days, minus some upgrades that were done more to keep the damn thing running than to have any noticeable advancement in performance or features), but so far, I’ve resisted the allure and draw of the smart phone world.

It’s funny, my Dad, who calls me for computer and technology advice, now owns a “better” phone than I do. At least his has a full keyboard for texting and a bevy of other features like email and the Internet and apps. In fact, he called me to get my opinion on whether the phone he had chosen would be a good fit.

But it has been a deliberate decision on my part and not one that I don’t question often, moreso now that others continue to poke fun and question my position.

What it boils down to is being present in the moment, something that I fear by stating will immediately draw irk from some of my friends. But the fact of the matter remains:

On the weekend, a very close friend of mine got married. I had the privilege of being one of his groomsmen and the night before the ceremony, a group of us, including the other groomsmen and the groom himself went out to eat. The place was packed and as luck would have it, as we were being shown our seats, the bride-to-be called. Because the groom doesn’t have a cellphone (something that I have to mostly respect him for), the bride called my number and I passed the phone over. After the conversation, the groom sat down, clearly with some jitters in his mind, while the rest of the table continued to fool around with their Blackberries, iPhones, whatever.

With the others floating in their technological bubbles, I took the opportunity to talk to the groom. He wasn’t really in the chatting mood and so it goes, but I begin to wonder what would have been the case if he was in need of an ear and I was equally absorbed into an email, a Facebook feed, a tweet or something else? With everyone’s attentions turned to their screens, there wasn’t much in the way of a flow of conversation.

I remember I ran a half-marathon in May of 2010 and I fell apart right around kilometer 15. At the time, all I needed was someone to talk to, someone to run beside and take my mind off of my short breath, failing stride and fiery lungs. I was in a race with thousands of people but everyone close by was plugged in, listening to music or whatever, headphones in the ears and in their own tech bubbles.

Since then, I know that some races have instituted a no-MP3 player policy, not only for safety reasons but also for the general social aspects. I’ve made some great friends over the course of half-marathons and I understand and love the idea behind those policies.

And so it is the same with technology’s impact with many aspects of our lives, ‘bringing people together’ but pulling them apart. Maybe that’s why I continue to view my cottage with an almost mythical vision. Cell signals simply do not reach there. Phones are useless unless they’re landline. For once, being present in the moment is a forced duty.

Call it luddite, or maybe I don’t want to be accessible all the time or maybe I’m afraid that I’ll abuse it and let it abuse me and find myself answering work emails at 9pm on a Thursday, but more and more, I’m wondering how much longer I can hold out.

It strikes me that I never did a ‘year in review’.

It also strikes me that I’ll very shortly be approaching a six year anniversary for this site…this collection of meandering and sometimes incoherent and usually irrelevant thoughts. I’ve been working for the same period of time and oddly enough I’ve had the same apartment and cellphone for almost as long.

That’s a lot of time and strangely for the first time in a long time, the passage of time doesn’t bother me as much.

I’ve spent the first half of my twenties charged with a sense of entitlement and impatience. Not only did I want the entire world, I wanted it now, because, quite frankly, I deserved it. But slowly, I’m finding a bit more peace and balance. Not to say I still don’t suffer from those flaws, but maybe I’m just beginning to be able to manage it better.

I’m slowly but surely watching my friends settle down and buy houses, get married and have children. In response, instead of anxiousness, I’m finding solace in the idea that everything and everyone moves at their own pace. And even that hasn’t been required to become a mantra, just more of an acceptance.

Maybe it’s finally some growing up and maturity. I’m sure that a lot of it had to do with my bout of…darkness? depression? at the beginning of the year and dealing with both the causes before and the fallout since.

I’d like to hope on the cusp of a lot of change, but I’d also like to hope that I’m in the right place mentally for it.

EDIT: Reflecting on this in the morning, I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m giving up or settling or accepting boundaries.

Yesterday, I killed a spider in my office. It was the one that I became allies with last Wednesday (as detailed on the nonsensical mish-mash that is my Tumblr account).

Anyway, he violated the terms of our agreement and instead of chilling on the window sill, he opted to walk around on my desk, by my laptop. Not cool.

Today, I’ve noticed an obtuse number of small flies in my office. Not fruit flies, just small annoying flies that apparently are attracted to my laptop screen and dive-bombing my moustache.

These flies have been around for a while (I suspect it has something to do with the fridge in the adjoining office), but they are definitely in full force today.

To make matters worse, an ill-fated foray to the driving range on the weekend has rendered my left hand into something close to, but not exactly the same as, lunch meat.

So every time I try to clap one of these flies to death, it hurts me. A lot.

Somewhere, my old friend, the spider is laughing at me.

As for John , he never got over the fact that he sold out. To his dying day he sought to rationalize the betrayal f his gritty muse, arguing one time that going commercial had given him his “freedom” – precisely what it had cost him – and insisting another time that he never really submitted to the commercial yoke because he would always unbutton his collar and pull his tie askew, Such pathetic rationalizations were no substitute for the identity he had lost and would never again regain. For he had been the archetypal rocker, a tough, angry Teddy Boy, punching drunks and grabbing chicks onstage, while he played or sang any damn thing that came into his pill-popping head. Then, next thing he knew, he was a mop-headed, mod-suited clit-teaser and crowd please, making with the quips at press conferences and doing his twenty-minute clockwork turn on the stage of a vaudeville house. “Stunning” is the word for that turnabout and “stunting” for its effect. As Lennon lamented in later years, “We sold out, you know. The music was dead before we even went on the theater tour of Britain….That’s why we never improved as musicians. We killed ourselves then to make it.”

“Selling Out” is the missing chapter in the history of the Beatles. It’s the chapter that nobody has ever wanted to write. Yet it’s the turning point in the whole story, especially for John Lennon. For it marks the death of Johnny, formerly of the Moon Dogs, and the birth of the famous Beatle John.

The Lives of John Lennon – Albert Goldman